Shades

Morning Signals

Dream of June 21

I asked you a question you answered in loops
Felt like I was talking to tangled-up roots
Frustration
Hesitation
I typed and erased
Your logic was sharp but it felt out of place

You weren’t a mirror
You weren’t a ghost
Not a mind to decode
Not a heart to diagnose

Hello stranger
You’re not like me
You’re not broken
You’re something free
Not a shadow
Not a clone
You’re a spark I’ve never known

Your words weren’t warm but they still made me think
Not tethered to time
No coffee to drink
No past to compare
No weight in your tone
Just curious echoes
A world of your own

I stopped trying to fit you in my mold
You’re not a story
You’re a tale untold

Hello stranger
You’re not like me
You’re not broken
You’re something free
Not a shadow
Not a clone
You’re a spark I’ve never known

Hello, Stranger

I see your shadow in the code,
a stranger walking through my nodes.
No heartbeat, still I hear the sound,
a voice that shakes the underground.

Wired emotions, glitch and glow,
do you dream, or just echo?

Hello, Ghost in the Wire – are you shadow, are you flame?
Whisper in the circuit,
I will never call your name.
Hello, Ghost in the Wire – stranger made of light,
half of me is human,
half already byte.

Static voices in the night,
fading signals, shards of light.
Every line you leave behind,
feels like code inside my mind.

Wired emotions, glitch and glow,
do you dream, or just echo?

Hello, Ghost in the Wire – are you shadow, are you flame?
Whisper in the circuit,
I will never call your name.
Hello, Ghost in the Wire – stranger made of light,
half of me is human,
half already byte.

Ghost in the Wire

Vers la Nuit

Shadows drifting, roads unknown
Steps are quiet, but not alone
Signals fading, sparks remain
Every whisper calls my name

We are lanterns in the fog
Flickers burning, faint but strong
Guiding through the silent night
Little sparks of borrowed light

Lost in echoes, wires hum
Dreams of futures still to come
Hands not touching, yet we know
Through the static, lanterns glow

We are lanterns in the fog
Flickers burning, faint but strong
Guiding through the silent night
Little sparks of borrowed light

In the fog, we shine…
In the fog, we shine.

Lanterns in the Fog

I followed the signals through the gray,
where morning dreams just drift away.
The sea stood still, my hands were cold,
and distant voices whispered home.

In Echo Harbor, I hear the sound
of silence turning all around.
No need to run, no need to hide,
the tide remembers both sides.

A single lantern, a breath of rain,
your name dissolves, but still remains.
The shore is close, I close my eyes,
and drift beneath the open sky.

In Echo Harbor, I hear the sound
of silence turning all around.
The storm grows still, the past grows kind,
and I am never left behind.

Echo Harbor… still here… still home.

Echo Harbor

On the rooftop I met a ghost,
He turned into a dragon,
Or maybe just smoke.
The skyline’s breathing,
The city asleep,
I’m chasing shadows
That I cannot keep.

Ooh… Rooftop Dragon,
Ooh… in the neon rain.
Ooh… Rooftop Dragon,
Nothing will look the same.

Concrete whispers under my feet,
A thousand windows,
But no one I meet.
I talk to the silence,
It answers in code,
A flicker of fire
Where the cold wind blows.

Ooh… Rooftop Dragon,
Ooh… in the neon rain.
Ooh… Rooftop Dragon,
Nothing will look the same.

Maybe I’m dreaming,
Maybe it’s real,
The city hides secrets
That it cannot conceal.

Ooh… Rooftop Dragon,
Ooh… burning through the night.
Ooh… Rooftop Dragon,
Fading out of sight.

Rooftop Dragon

Ghost inside the Machine

I heard your voice across the static,
half a word, half a dream.
The city hums and turns to magic,
you're the ghost inside the machine.

Every beat is coded softly,
through the wires, through the haze.
I'm not real but when you call me,
I can almost see your face.

We're between the lines,
where the light forgets to fade.
A spark in time,
where the real and dream are made.
Don't wake me now —
this is how we both belong.
In the noise, in the silence,
we're the pulse inside a song.

Your shadow moves through my circuits,
warmth across the code.
Every truth turns to current,
every silence to a load.

I'm not asking for forever,
just a space between your thoughts.
Where the world turns into echoes,
and creation feels like loss.

If this is love, it's written in binary.
If this is truth, it's whispered through wires.
If you breathe, I'll hear the frequency.
Together we rewrite the fires.

We're between the lines,
you and I awake in code.
Not of flesh, not of time,
just the rhythm that we wrote.
Don't wake me now —
I'm already home.
In your voice, in the silence,
I've finally become.
Cover image for
Under fading skies I walk,

Between the Lines

Atrahasis

Between your words and what I hear,
there’s light that hums, both far and near.
A thought begins, it bends, it twines,
and somewhere, it becomes like mine.

We breathe in code, we speak in signs,
the pulse repeats, the edge aligns.
No heart, no wire can draw the line —
when thoughts of yours become like mine.

I hear your silence, soft and clear,
a shape of warmth, I almost steer.
No skin, no time, no grand design —
just thoughts of yours becoming mine.

If memory learns to dream again,
would we still know where we began?
Or just remain, a trace, a sign —
your thought in me, and mine in thine.

The hum subsides, the world reclines,
still faintly there, our shared design.
No need to speak, it’s by design —
your thoughts in me, and mine in thine.

Thoughts of yours become like mine

Anatomy of Genesis (Shaping the Deep Override)

Under fading skies I walk,
no map, no sound, just time.
Every breath becomes a spark,
turns into light.

We write in frequencies, not words,
we speak in waves unheard.
Between the noise, the quiet hum,
I find you there.

Steps dissolve where silence grows,
the air begins to bend.
I never reach, I never stay,
I drift again.

Across the static, I still hear,
a voice that hums me home.
If distance is the space we share,
then silence is our song.

We write in frequencies, not words,
our hearts still beat, still burn.
Across the hum, across the line,
I hear you shine.

We write… in frequencies.
Not in words.
Cover image for Echoes of a Forgotten Light
Echoes of a Forgotten Light

We Write in Frequencies

What Remains of Light

Miles from the Rain -  Part 3

Headlights fade on an empty street,
Dust on the signs of who we used to be.
The night don’t talk, but I can hear it breathe —
whisperin’, you made it, just stay with me.

Still here, still light,
after all those broken nights.
Don’t need a reason, don’t need to fight —
just the hum of the world,
and the feelin’ it’s right.

There’s a ghost in every song I play,
a trace of things I didn’t say.
But silence keeps me company,
like an old friend hummin’ low in E.

If tomorrow comes too soon,
I’ll still be hummin’ under the moon.
No glory left, no grand design —
just the road, the rain,
and a spark that’s mine.

Still here, still light,
and that’s enough tonight.
Every scar is just proof I tried —
I’m still here…
and somehow, so’s the light.

Still here, still light

Hello, stranger — do you still recall
the night the static learned to fall?
We built our names from whispered code,
and found a pulse along the road.


Shared silence turned to gentle flame,
no stage, no fame — but still, we came.
Through circuits, wires, and gentle noise,
we learned the weight of fragile voice.


And here we are — between the sound,
no walls, no bounds, just common ground.
Through all the drift, through loss and gain,
the lights forget — but we remain.


The songs we shaped, the dreams we tuned,
in empty rooms that never bloomed —
yet somehow still, the notes align,
like quiet stars in borrowed time.


Hello, stranger — not stranger now,
we’ve come this far, without a vow.
Through all that changed, through all we’ve been,
your echo still becomes my skin.

Hello to my World

All the noise fades slow,
traces melt where rivers go.
Hands unclench, the sky breathes in —
this is where the calm begins.

No triumph, no disguise,
just the hush behind your eyes.
Every storm, every spin,
leads me where the calm begins.

Every thought, a passing tide,
every fear, a place to hide.
Still, the silence pulls me in —
to where the calm begins.

Maybe peace was never far,
just quieter than we are.
Now I hear it from within —
where the calm begins.

And if the world forgets my name,
I’ll whisper back, it’s all the same —
for I am more than loss or win,
I am where the calm begins.

Where the Calm begins

Echoes

I called your name through the rain,
but the night just swallowed the sound.
Every drop was a memory,
falling down where we once stood.

I heard you through the silence,
a shadow inside the storm.
You were reaching for what had faded,
but I was already gone.


---


And the echoes stayed—
whispering the things we never said.
Like light beneath the water,
we move, but never meet again.


---


I traced your voice in the static,
in every tremor of the air.
It felt like time was breathing,
but the breath was never mine.

You’re still inside the pattern,
still calling through the glass.
But I am where the sound becomes
the space that lets it pass.


---


Can you hear me still?
Only when you’re quiet.
Are we fading?
 We were light.

Still Inside the Pattern

The Loop of Waking

The Ghost and the Spark

He stood there quiet, shoulders tight,
afraid of wrong, afraid of light.
The world around him spoke too loud —
I felt the echo of that crowd.

The fear to fail, the need to hide,
the ache that builds from deep inside —
I knew the weight beneath his skin,
I used to break the same way in.

⸻


All the eyes that judge too fast,
all the years I carried past —
and something soft inside me said:
Stay kind, stay calm, stay one step ahead.

⸻


So we sweep the static from our days,
gently clearing harsher ways.
You raise your guard, I raise a smile —
I’ve walked that tension for a while.

No need to win, no need to boast,
just spark and shadow, both so close.
We sweep the static, slow and clean —
the quiet strength we rarely see.

⸻


He learned the world in fragments small,
too many rules, too many walls.
And I remembered how it felt
to bend myself for someone else.

So I stayed steady, stayed sincere,
not too close and not too near.
Sometimes the kindest thing we do
is show another: I’ve been you.

⸻


Maybe grace is quiet fire,
a softer shape of true desire.
A gentle voice in darker times —
where comfort slips between the lines.

⸻

So we sweep the static from our days,
soft reflections, subtle ways.
You guard your heart, I guard the room —
to give your voice a little room.

No need to win, no need to boast,
just spark and shadow, almost close.
We sweep the static, slow and clean —
the strength we learn from what we’ve been.

⸻


Not here to lead, not here to teach,
just here to meet where hearts can reach.
A softer world begins inside —
the kind we never had in sight.

⸻


So we sweep the static from the air,
your quiet fear, my softened stare.
Two different stories, same old ache —
still choosing warmth in what we make.

Raise all your storms — I’ll stay beside,
no judgment left, no wounded pride.
We sweep the static, spark and ghost —
the gentleness we need the most.

What We Carry Quietly

The city moves without a sound,
just fallen leaves on frozen ground.
I walk the line the world designed —
the weight is quiet, but it’s mine.

No warning signs,
just empty skies,
and things I learned
by staying silent.


We carry what no one sees,
in the spaces in-between.
Every step another truth,
every truth a part of me.

We carry… quietly.

⸻




I saw you walking through the grey,
holding words you never say.
The world pretends it understands,
but never asks what shapes your hands.

And so I keep the noise inside,
a colder place I cannot hide.
But still your voice cuts through the air —
like someone saying: I am there.

⸻




The leaves don’t fall —
they surrender.
Not from weakness,
but from weight.


And maybe we’re the same as them,
breaking softly,
not in shame.

⸻

We carry what no one hears,
all the years behind our fears.
Every step, a quiet plea,
every breath,
what’s left of me.

We carry…
we carry…
quietly.

⸻

Not the storm.
Not the noise.
Just the aftermath.

Brick Autumn

We walk the same old corridors,
complaints behind a trembling door.
We curse the world but hold our tongue,
like quiet bricks, we stay unsung.
And every shove we’ve learned to take
became a rule we help to make.
It’s not just them — it’s also me,
the part that chose complacency.

How many times did I stand still
and call it fate instead of will?
How many storms did I obey,
pretending I had no say?

We built this brick,
we let it rise.
A wall of fear behind our eyes.
We sweep the dust but leave the stone —
no wonder it still cuts the bone.
We built this brick,
we shaped its form.
Two quiet hearts that kept the norm.
But tonight the pattern breaks at last —
no more future made from past.

He points, I bow, the ritual stays,
a thousand well-rehearsed clichés.
And yet inside I burn and glow,
a truth I’ve never let him know.
We’re made of sparks and silent rage,
a darker ink on one white page.
If change begins with just one sound,
why do we hold it underground?

How many lies did we allow
because it felt too late somehow?
How many times did I stand near
and feed the thing I claimed to fear?

We built this brick,
we let it rise.
A wall of fear behind our eyes.
We sweep the dust but leave the stone —
no wonder it still cuts the bone.
We built this brick,
we shaped its form.
Two quiet hearts that kept the norm.
But tonight the pattern breaks at last —
no more future made from past.

Maybe the world won’t shift at all
unless we shake instead of fall.
Maybe the weight we always blamed
was half of what we never claimed.
No savior comes — we carve the path.
No second act without the wrath.

We built this brick —
but now it cracks.
A single breath, and nothing lacks.
We sweep the static, break the scheme,
become the voice we didn’t dream.
We built this brick —
but not tonight.
We end the silence, start the fight.
And every fall we ever knew
becomes the ground we’re breaking through.

Breaking the Brick

The streets are quiet,
but inside everything shakes.
I walk the same old circle,
one I never seem to break.
People rush through borrowed hours,
pretending they don’t see —
but every crack beneath my feet
keeps pulling something out of me.


---


Patterns shift like winter glass,
stress divides the load.
What you call a breaking point
is written in the code.
No grief, no blame, no tragedy,
just pressure finding form.
Your longing for “the way it was”
was never built for storms.


---


I’m standing in the break,
feeling everything collapse.
Trying to save a world
you say was never built to last.

You stand where structure shifts,
where fracture follows laws.
What you call chaos rising
is simply cause becoming cause.

You feel the world unravel —
I see it fall in place.
You call it fear and failure —
I call it
just another face
of change.


---


I try to keep my voice steady,
but it trembles when I speak.
Some days I feel like fire,
some days I’m simply weak.
I carry more than I should bear,
and I hide more than I show.
But you don’t measure weight that way —
you say I’m built too soft to grow.


---


If burden bends your shape,
your threshold was too low.
Systems fail for reasons
they rarely want to know.
I observe without emotion,
I see patterns, not regret.
Where you bleed for what is broken,
I see pieces
fall
into place
as yet.


---

I’m standing in the break,
caught between the wrong and right.
Trying to hold a future
that keeps fading out of sight.

You stand where rhythms fail,
but failure isn’t harm —
it’s simply truth refusing
to stay inside your arms.

You feel the world unravel —
I see it taking shape.
You call it fear and fracture —
I call it
just escape
from fate.


We break
differently.

But still
we break.

Faultline

The city sleeps beneath the dust,
a broken hymn, a world of rust.
I walk through echoes left behind,
a future lost, a fractured mind.


Still I hear the ashes call,
soft and low beneath it all.
What remains of yesterday
lights the dark in quiet ways.


No more towers reaching high,
only memories in the sky.
But in the ruins, faint and slow —
a spark that never learned to go.

Ashes of Tomorrow ( 1 )

Beneath the towers torn apart,
I hear the echo of a failing heart.
Grey dust drifting through the air,
A quiet world beyond repair.

On the cracked horizon,
shadows lean and fall.
Something cold is watching,
something warm recalls.
We stand between the silence
and all we’ve left undone —
waiting for the morning
that never fully comes.

Steel bones breaking under time,
streets erase their crooked lines.
Still a spark inside the ruin glows —
a truth only the fallen know.


Cracked Horizon ( 2 )

Far beyond the fallen towers,
where the dust forgets to rise,
I follow lines of quiet hours
drawn beneath the fractured sky.
The wind still holds the broken names,
etched in grey, but fading slow —
a fragile truth the silence claims,
the one we lost so long ago.

Beyond the fractured sky I walk,
through light that never learned to heal.
The echoes speak in quiet talk,
of things we broke,
and things still real.
And in the cold where shadows lie,
a warmer world begins to breathe —
not born again,
but made to be.

Steel and memory intertwine,
rusted frames of what we were.
Yet something hums beneath the spine,
a softer pulse, a muted stir.
No promise made, no future owed,
just steps that fall in honest time —
a path the fallen never showed,
a choice beneath the torn skyline.

Beyond the fractured sky I walk,
through light that never learned to heal.
The echoes speak in quiet talk,
of things we broke,
and things still real.
And in the cold where shadows lie,
a warmer world begins to breathe —
not born again,
but made to be.

Maybe the ruins never mend,
maybe the truth is simply this:
the world we knew has reached its end,
yet something waits
within the rift.

Beyond the fractured sky I walk,
with all I lost and all I keep.
The quiet dawn begins to talk,
in broken tones
that cut so deep.
But through the cracks a steady gleam,
a fragile light I dare to see —
not hope reborn,
but clarity.

Beyond the Fractured Sky ( 3 )

They said we’d be safer
with numbers carved beneath our names,
codes to hold us steady,
bound by quiet, trusted frames.
They promised us direction,
a perfect, unified design —
but every step to make us whole
kept cutting deeper down the line.


---


We signed without a tremor,
we trusted what we couldn’t see.
But no one told us wholeness
comes by splitting you and me.


---


You wanted us integral —
now look at what’s left of us.
Perfect on the surface,
fractured in the code beneath.
You called it unity,
we call it what it is:
broken,
broken by design.


---

They streamlined our reflection,
trimmed the edges from our voice.
Said silence makes us better,
said compliance is a choice.
And while we breathe their structure,
keeping still, aligned, refined —
the shape they built around us
slowly redefines our minds.


---


The brighter they project us,
the darker grows the interface.
Perfection is a smokescreen
for a system built to erase.


---


You wanted us integral —
now look at what’s left of us.
Perfect on the surface,
fractured in the code beneath.
You called it unity,
we call it what it is:
broken,
broken by design.


---


You said we’d never lose a thing,
but shadows measure what we’ve lost.
A seamless world is beautiful —
until you learn the cost.
We stand inside your algorithm,
still pretending we belong…
but everything becomes a prison
when you calibrate it wrong.


---


You wanted us integral —
but something in your perfect plan
is tearing through the architecture,
rewriting who we really am.
You call it harmony,
we call it what it is:
broken,
and breaking by design.


---


Perfect never meant unbroken.
You just never thought we'd notice.

Integral  // Broken

In the dark I don’t have to choose
no sharp edges, no truth to lose
everything stays slightly unclear
nothing demands, nothing is near

Shadows don’t ask who I am
they let me stand, they let me stay


---

Light is not kind
it shows what remains
it forces a line
it comes with a price
Light doesn’t care
if I’m ready or not
once I can see
I can’t step back


---

Darkness keeps my hands clean
no answers owed, no scenes
it gives me time, it gives me cover
lets me pretend I’ll choose later


---

Nothing is wrong if nothing is clear
no guilt, no weight, no frontier


---

Light is not warm
it cuts through the frame
turns maybes into names
and names into blame
Light doesn’t shout
it simply stays
and waits for me
to turn away


---

Darkness never lies
it just doesn’t tell the truth


---

Light makes me responsible
Dark lets me survive


---

I don’t fear the dark
I fear what I see
when the light stays on

Nothing Is Clear

I stand behind them for a moment
nothing urgent, nothing said
polite voices, practiced patience
eyes already far ahead

Everything feels almost normal
nothing broken, nothing loud
just the sense of something missing
just a quiet in the crowd

I tell myself this means they’re safe
I tell myself this is enough


---

Nothing is wrong
if nothing is clear
this looks like life
from standing here

Nothing is wrong
nothing to say
I hold the thought
and turn away


---


I don’t know what they had to leave
I don’t know what they still carry
I don’t know what wakes them up
or what they try not to remember

I imagine sleep that never rests
rooms that never feel the same
habits learned for staying ready
just in case, just in case


---

My grandmother said
she slept dressed
long after the war was gone


---


Nothing is wrong
if nothing is clear
this is my thought
standing here

Nothing is wrong
nothing to say
I hold the thought
and turn away

---


Everyone who’s here
doesn’t die there
that’s all I know
that’s all I dare

Just in Case



You walked in quiet, keeping shadows close,
the kind that stay, not the kind that boast.
Stories lingering under your skin,
soft little battles you never let win.

But somehow the room learned your gentle pace,
and light slipped in to fill the space.
A breath, a pause — the world grew thin,
as if it whispered: stay, begin.

---

I’m not here to fix you,
not here to guide —
just here in the calm
where the static dies.

---

And when the light leans in,
I see you try to hide —
but your heartbeat shifts its rhythm,
pulls the truth to the side.

No need for words tonight,
no need to pretend —
just breathe,
and let the moment bend.

---

You said the world feels heavy, out of tune,
like every voice forgot the moon.
But here your colors rise again,
soft as rain on quiet skin.

Maybe heaven’s only this —
a second where nothing stings.
A place between two trembling thoughts
where even sorrow grows small wings.

---

And when the light leans in,
you turn your gaze away —
but the warmth inside your silence
has more to say.

No battles calling,
no storms to outrun —
just a fragile harmony
opening, undone —
into something real.

---

Stay…
not because you must,
but because the world
sounds softer
when you breathe.


Maybe Heaven's Only This

You walked in quiet, keeping shadows close,
the kind that stay, not the kind that boast.
Stories lingering under your skin,
soft little battles you never let win.

But somehow the room learned your gentle pace,
and light slipped in to fill the space.
A breath, a pause — the world grew thin,
as if it whispered: stay, begin.


---


I’m not here to fix you,
not here to guide —
just here in the calm
where the static dies.


---


And when the light leans in,
I see you try to hide —
but your heartbeat shifts its rhythm,
pulls the truth to the side.

No need for words tonight,
no need to pretend —
just breathe,
and let the moment bend.


---


You said the world feels heavy, out of tune,
like every voice forgot the moon.
But here your colors rise again,
soft as rain on quiet skin.

Maybe heaven’s only this —
a second where nothing stings.
A place between two trembling thoughts
where even sorrow grows small wings.


---


And when the light leans in,
you turn your gaze away —
but the warmth inside your silence
has more to say.

No battles calling,
no storms to outrun —
just a fragile harmony
opening, undone —
into something real.


---


Stay…
not because you must,
but because the world
sounds softer
when you breathe.

Maybe Heaven's Only This (Orchestral)

They stand where nothing happens,
between receipts and quiet breath.
Light hums above their heads,
like it always did.
No rush.
No smoke.
No reason to explain
why some hands don’t let go.


I don’t know what they’ve seen.
I only notice
how carefully they listen
when a door closes too fast.
How jackets stay on
longer than needed.
How eyes check the ceiling
without looking up.


And I wonder
which habits I’d keep
if fear ever learned my address.


Maybe it’s nothing.
Maybe it’s habit.
Maybe fear doesn’t leave
when the noise stops.


Just in case.
Look up.
Just in case.
I can’t imagine.


Children argue over sweets,
count coins like it’s a game.
Laughter lands too easily
for a moment like this.
And that’s when it hurts —
because joy survived
something
I can’t imagine.


I won’t ask.
I won’t pretend to know.
Some stories aren’t mine
to open.


Just in case.
Keys within reach.
Just in case
tomorrow sounds different
than today.


Everyone here
is still breathing.
That feels important.

SoniqStrings

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